


Twilight Sleep

by Caedmon



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Dream Sex, Dream Smut, F/M, Kinda?, SO, Steve loves Natasha, Unrequited Love, Wet Dream, at least not well, clintasha is mentioned, go easy on me ok?, hell I don't know, i don't write smut, i really have no excuse for this, natasha loves clint, not really a romanogers, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve only thought of her in that place where consciousness fades into dreams, in the place where his control slipped and the iron grip he kept on his thoughts faltered as he tumbled into sleep.  When he was awake, there was no question of his ability to focus - and to redirect his focus distinctly away from that one particular area.  But at night, when he slipped into the quiet place of rest, the truth of the situation - so easily denied in the battles and practice scenarios of the day - slip in to whisper in his ear that they cannot be forgotten...that they are still there...that they are still true no matter how much he ignores them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twilight Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unrequited love Romanogers fic. 
> 
> Caveat emptor. 
> 
> I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. I own nothing. Except, you know, the mistakes.  
> I love comments, kudos and feedback more than I love dark chocolate. It's serious love we're talking about, y'all.  
> caedmonfaith.tumblr.com

Steve only thought of her in that place where consciousness fades into dreams, in the place where his control slipped and the iron grip he kept on his thoughts faltered as he tumbled into sleep. When he was awake, there was no question of his ability to focus - and to redirect his focus distinctly away from that one particular area. But at night, when he slipped into the quiet place of rest, the truth of the situation - so easily denied in the battles and practice scenarios of the day - slip in to whisper in his ear that they cannot be forgotten...that they are still there...that they are still true no matter how much he ignores them.

By day, she was a teammate. A friend and nothing more. He was nothing but strength around her; it was all he had left in this world, and he used it to the best of his ability around her. He never thought of her as anything but his teammate, a fighter, an occasional partner. She saw him as the same. They were friends. Her heart belonged to another and he knew that. He'd never do anything to harm her and he'd destroy anyone who tried to harm her. He knew that coming between her and the man she loved would break her heart, and he'd rather die than do that. So he employed all of his strength to be what she saw him as: A teammate. A friend. A partner.

But at night, when he lay alone in his apartment with the crisp coolness of his sheets the only thing caressing his skin, he would sometimes let the resentment creep in - just a little. If he allowed himself to think about that day in the mall, the one and only time his lips had pressed against hers, the resentment crept in a lot and he would roll over, grinding his teeth, shaking his head, punching his pillow and willing the thoughts away. _She is not yours. She will never be yours. She is your friend. Be happy for that friendship._

But eventually, he would drift to sleep. His brow would unfurrow and his jaw would relax. The iron grip on his brain would slacken and he would begin to slip into the twilight of sleep...

She would come to him, like the scent of jasmine on the breeze. She would smile at him and walk to him, her red hair blowing softly about her face and shoulders, a single tendril sticking to her lip as she smiled at him. Her hips swayed gently, the light fabric of the skirt clinging to her legs as she sauntered his way. She'd bring a hand up and remove the hair from her lips with one finger, then trace her own finger down her jawline as she watched him, spoke to him.

_Steve. Oh, Steve. I watch you, you know. I know you watch me. I know you want me as much as I want you._

She would slide into his lap, slipping one arm around the back of his neck, carding her fingers in his hair. He would bring one hand up to the small of her back, rubbing it gently over the white linen, gently sliding it down to her ass when she did nothing but smile at him. He would put his right hand on her exposed thigh, rubbing little circles with his thumb - and she was not minding. She would bite her lip and grind her hips down onto him just a little and his hands would tighten, staring in front of him at the tops of her breasts, creamy and rounded, rising and falling more rapidly from arousal. She would notice his gaze and arch her back, pulling one strap off of her shoulder and letting it slide down her arm, exposing a breast to him and giving a silent invitation for his lips. His hand would slide up her thigh and he'd roll his hips, grinding himself into her and she'd chuckle.

_Yes, I think you want me too, don't you, Steve?_

He would look up at her, his fingers climbing towards her center and nod wordlessly, afraid to break the spell she had him under, wanting nothing but to feel her around him and under him, dying to taste her. He'd plead with his eyes, his hand gripping her ass as he ground his erection into her, trying desperately to let her know what he wanted, what he _needed_. 

_One day, Steve, one day. Maybe I'll come to you for real. Don't stop thinking of me..._

His fingers would reach her hot core just as she would vanish, leaving him painfully hard and arched as if to actually kiss someone standing above him, the scent of her shampoo and phantom arousal still in his nostrils.

He would allow himself to finish what his imagination had started, and then willed himself not to dream of her as he drifted off. He begged the night not to torture him anymore. Not that night. 

The next morning, every morning, he would smile at her - his friend - as if nothing were different. Because nothing was different. He maintained his steely will, only faltering on the occasion that Clint would touch her with the intimacy that only a man in a relationship could touch a woman, or on the rare occasions that she would kiss Clint affectionately. He would struggle then with himself for just a moment, then regain control, smiling happily for his friends.

Because he was happy for them. He was happy for them and knew his happiness would come. They were both enhanced, their life expectancies were much longer. There was time. He could wait. 

But until then, his happiness came in that twilight place...the place between asleep and awake...


End file.
